


Close to Your Chest

by Pixial



Series: Support and Stand [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, M/M, Panic Attack, Pining, Self Harm, painfully honest conversations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 04:12:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10070969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixial/pseuds/Pixial
Summary: They were good together, he realized. They could give each other everything he wouldn't have been able to. He could lay his silly longings aside and concentrate on his work, trusting his friends to each other.Caim Lavellan does his best to pretend he's just fine alone with missed opportunities. He successfully manages to trick himself... For a while.





	1. Repression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caim Lavellan is about as self aware as a rock.

_“... Certainly, mages often use it as a source of light, for its flame burns without wood or oil. It can also activate dormant spells, which has its uses. Veilfire’s true potential, however, is as a medium for--”_

“Maker’s breath! Are you _still_ here?”

Caim Lavellan looked up at Dorian with a frown of irritation and confusion. Irritation at the interruption, and confusion at the simple fact it took him a few seconds to remember where he was. When his mind broke clear of the fog his studies created, he was surprised at how dark the library had become. When had that happened? Last time he’d looked up, the early afternoon sun had shone through the windows!

He pushed away from the table and its large stack of books, putting a hand to his neck to ease a cramp that flared to life as he moved. “Dorian? What time...?”

The mage clucked his tongue in that annoyingly endearing superior manner of his. “Two hours after nightfall, Inquisitor. And let me guess, you’ve worked straight through dinner, haven't you?”

Lavellan ducked his head, blushing as his stomach chose that moment to make a complaint. Dorian twitched his mustache in disapproval, a spark of concern flashing despite the stern expression. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said. “Whatever is it that’s captivated your attention? I understand the draw of a good book, but…” He reached out to read the cover of the tome Lavellan had lost the afternoon poring through. “A primer on _veilfire?_ By _Magister Pendictus_ , of all people? A bit dry, even for a mage’s taste. Which, _you_ are not, unless you’ve been a secret apostate this entire time.”

“We’re relying on mages to win this war,” Lavellan pointed out, rolling his neck to work out a crick. “Besides, we keep running into the damned stuff. It doesn’t hurt to learn a bit about it.” Besides, he didn’t think it was that dry. He’d definitely found worse on the shelves of Skyhold’s library. How was it that people managed to turn a perfectly interesting history into sheer boredom? It was truly a terrible shame. 

“Learning is all well and good, but not at the moment. You need a break and something to eat. And _I_ am in need of a charming fellow to escort me to Varric’s little get-together in the Herald’s Rest.” The mage stepped back, offering Lavellan a hand up.

“I really wish they’d chosen a different name,” Lavellan grumbled, making a face as he stood, taking the proffered hand. He felt stiff, and as much as he loathed the interruption of his studies, he knew the break was needed. Besides, Dorian was good (fantastic) company, and Lavellan didn’t mind sparing an entertaining hour or two with him.

Dorian grinned brightly down at him. “Oh, I don’t know. You could do with a bit of flattery. Maker knows it does _me_ wonders.” He slid his hand to the crook of Lavellan’s elbow, holding him close. Lavellan did his best to ignore the way that made his stomach flip. He liked the altus, he well and truly did, but flirting and the occasional tumbling aside… He’d already made his peace that a serious relationship was far out of his reach. Best to stick to friends. With occasional benefits. Keeping that in mind, he surrendered his arm to Dorian, and together they headed to the tavern.

“Hey! You found him!” Varric called out, raising a tankard as they swanned into the common room a few minutes later. “Was he trapped in paperwork again?”

“Library,” Dorian replied, elegantly flopping himself into a nearby chair. “Poor thing had fallen prey to a stack of books.”

Lavellan stuck his tongue out at them both and found his own chair. “I just got a bit absorbed is all,” he said as he gratefully accepted a plate one of the serving girls slid his way. Lissa…. Liesl… He wasn’t too sure on her name, but at that moment she was as divine as any goddess. He didn’t care what was on the plate, just that it was food. Away from the twin scents of paper and dust, his hunger reared its ugly head, and he devoured it with little thought for taste.

“Easy there, your Inquisitorialness. Don’t want you to choke on that. That’d be terrible way to go after all the shit you’ve done.” Varric gestured to Lissa/Liesl and soon Lavellan held a tankard of ale of his very own. 

“I don’t know, Varric,” Dorian put in, grabbing a drink for himself. “It sounds rather tragic.”

“There’s tragic and there’s pathetically tragic, Sparkler. We want to avoid the latter. And the former. Let’s just avoid tragedy.” 

“I’ll drink to that,” rumbled a deep voice from behind. Lavellan looked up to see Bull walking down the stairs with Cole in tow. His stomach performed another uncomfortable flip. There was another friend with very occasional benefits. Once again, he ignored the feeling. He was the Inquisitor. Anything beyond a casual relationship was out of reach simply do to his very job. Which was honestly fine.

“ _Amatus_ , you’ll drink to anything,” Dorian drawled. 

The Iron Bull flopped down next to the mage and wrapped a massive arm around him. “You say that like it’s a problem. Give me a bit and I’ll drink to you, too.” Dorian flushed at that and huffed, but he allowed Bull to tug him closer and press a kiss to his temple.

Lavellan choked on a bite of bread as heart gave a curious, near painful twist. Tears began to stream from his eyes as he coughed. Someone pounded on his back, and he had a hunch he might have bruises in the morning. When he could breathe again, he saw Cole and Varric next to him.

“Easy kid, I think he’s good,” Varric said, shaking his head. “See, I told you, Inquisitor. I don't want to be the one to tell the Seeker that we lost the Herald to a loaf of bread and some mashed potatoes.”

“Thanks,” Lavellan managed to gasp out once he got his voice back. He grabbed a napkin and wiped his face. Everyone in the room was staring at him, which was a sensation he still wasn't quite used to. 

“You alright there, Boss?” Bull asked from his spot by Dorian. 

“I’m fine,” Lavellan answered with a watery smile. “It’ll take a bit more than that to get me out of your hair.”

“But he doesn't have hair!” Cole exclaimed.

“It’s an expression, Cole,” Dorian said quickly as Bull opened his mouth to speak. “Don’t worry your pretty little head over it.”

Lavellan sighed and sat back, his near-death experience for the day fading. He studied Bull and Dorian for a quiet moment as both Varric and Dorian tried to keep Bull from confusing Cole anymore than necessary. How long had they been an item, he wondered. They looked good together, and as he thought more about it, they did suit each other very well. 

Something painful, close to relief swelled within him as his heart relaxed, and an unconscious smile tugged at his lips. They were good together, he realized. They could give each other everything he wouldn't have been able to. He could lay his silly longings aside and concentrate on his work, trusting his friends to each other. 

“See something you like?” Dorian’s voice cut through his thoughts like ribbons. Lavellan grinned at him. 

“With you? Always,” he answered easily, eyes drifting over him in appreciation. “I’m just wondering if you two are recent or if I’m going blind. Congratulations, either way”

“Recent enough,” came the reply. “Though with the way you’ve been holed up in the library for the past week, it’s a miracle you noticed at all.”

“You hole up in that library a lot yourself, you know,” Varric put in. “I’m starting to think we need to stage an intervention.”

“Oh please, it’s not that bad!” “I’m here now, aren’t I?” Dorian and Lavellan both protested over each other.

Bull snorted into his drink. “That kind of makes his point for him.”

Further protesting was killed by the arrival of Cullen and Josephine. Varric brightened and sat up straighter. “We’ve got enough for a game. Where have you two been?”

“I got caught by a couple of our ‘esteemed’ guests.” Cullen scowled as he took a seat. Josephine giggled.

“Lady Charlise and Monet managed to corner the Commander again,” she explained. “He needed a bit of rescuing.”

“Popular as ever, Cullen?” Lavellan slid him a drink. “Maybe we should have you handle them from now on. They’d be eating out of your hand in no time!”

Cullen blanched at that and downed his tankard. “Don't even _joke_ like that, Inquisitor,” he said, pained expression plain. 

“Aw, Curly, you’ve just got to gain a little finesse is all!” 

“ _Finesse?_ I have _plenty_ \--”

“When swinging a sword maybe,” Dorian interrupted. 

“Hey, are we going to play or spend the night teaching Cullen how to flirt?” Bull asked over Cullen’s sputtered retort.

“I’ll deal!” Josephine called out. Varric grinned and threw her the deck. The cards were divided and with an opening bid of three silver, the game took off with a merry start.

From there the evening became a pleasant blur of joking, drinking, and fine company. The Lady Ambassador cleaned them out by the end of the night, to no one’s surprise, and when Lavellan finally bid goodnight and took his leave, it was with a light heart and stumbling feet. He fell into bed with a happy sigh, his last thought was that Dorian was right to pry him out of the library. He’d needed a break.

At morning’s first light, Lavellan awoke with just as good a mood. He sat up in bed, feeling refreshed and eager to start the day. It took him a moment to place the cause, and when he did, a smile stretched across his face. Dorian and Bull. He didn't have to fret about his vague, confused feelings for them any longer. With that distraction out of the way, he could focus with renewed purpose. Getting out of bed, he whistled a happy tune to himself. It was time to get to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. That is a codex entry.


	2. Reaction Formation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interlude. Varric and Vivienne get along better than people suspect, and Cole is Cole.

In the months that followed, the Inquisition continued carving its name across Thedas. Battles were won both in the field and at negotiators’ tables. Emboldened by the victory at Adamant Fortress, its leaders began planning for the Empress’ ball at the Winter Palace in earnest.

As for its leader, no one could have asked for a more attentive Inquisitor. Some thought him filled with divine purpose, others said it was the need for justice, but whatever it was, Inquisitor Lavellan pushed himself as hard as any of his men. When he wasn't in the war room, he was poring through tomes of history or magic in the library. He regularly sought out Josephine, Leliana, and Vivienne to learn of the Orlesian Game and how to bend it to his will. And even with all of that, he somehow found the time to mingle with visiting dignitaries and the more common folk of Skyhold. 

“He makes me exhausted just watching! I mean, when does the guy _sleep_?” Varric complained to Vivienne one day. “That can't be healthy.”

“Come now, Varric dear. The poor boy is simply doing the best he can. Hold still, Cole,” she added to the squirming former spirit on the stool in front of her. “Demon or not, you are a part of this organization and that means you have a duty to at _least_ be presentable.”

“Because its armor? Like yours?” he asked as he tried his very hardest to stop his wiggling. 

“It means a haircut at the very least.” Her tone was as crisp as the snip of the scissors in her hand. Varric hid a smile. The Madame de Fer claimed she still held Cole in contempt, but he’d seen bears less adept at mothering. “When one has ambition, one must take advantage of all one can as soon as the opportunity arises.”

“Ambition or not,” he said aloud, “The man’s gonna break at this pace.”

“He’s already broken,” Cole piped up, statue-still as Vivienne’s scissors sent little tufts of blond hair to the floor. “The two threads were cut and tied without him, so he threw himself forward instead of down.”

Vivienne froze midsnip. “ _Please_ do not do that while you are in my solar. It’s disconcerting enough as it is.”

“Sorry, Madame.”

“ _Shit_.” Varric stood as two pairs of eyes locked onto him. Maybe it was a bad sign, but he’d gotten used to reading between the lines on Cole’s weirdly worded observations. How had he not noticed before? The Inquisitor wasn’t that good at keeping things quiet. Was he? “Kid, if that means what I _think_ it means, I need you to keep it to yourself.”

Cole nodded, taking advantage of Vivienne’s confusion. “Seeker Cassandra said sometimes helping makes other things break.”

“Good because trust me this is one of those times,” Varric grumbled. “Shit, no wonder he’s been moving at full tilt.”

The scissors dangled limply in Vivienne’s hand as she appeared lost in thought. “So that’s how he’s played it. I’d wondered.”

“Wondered? You mean you _knew_?” Varric demanded.

“I suspected. The Inquisitor was rather fond of both our local Tevinter and mercenary captain. I’d thought he’d gotten over it after they’d joined.” Vivienne sniffed and resumed her work on Cole, who was rather less than thrilled to be stuck sitting still again. 

“He didn't say anything about it,” Varric mused. “He seemed happy enough about it.”

“Of course he was, dear. Our Inquisitor is many things, but I fear he’s not the sort of man to contemplate anything too deeply, if he can help it.”

“He’s too good at pretend,” Cole added. 

“So the two of you are saying he doesn't even _know_ why he’s working himself to death? Andraste’s _tits_ that sounds bad.”

“It probably is,” Cole said solemnly as he brushed hair off his nose. 

Vivienne opened her mouth-- most likely to tell Cole to hold still again-- when a knock sounded at the door. She placed a hand on Cole’s shoulder to hold him steady and called out, “Come in!”

Varric nearly choked as the door opened to admit the object of their conversation. Lavellan nodded in greeting, flashing a brilliant smile. “Finally managed to pin Cole down?”

“She’s using scissors, Inquisitor. Not pins,” Cole replied as he waved.

“I _will_ pin you to that stool if you don’t stop moving your head,” she warned him. “Hello, darling. Social call or do we have somewhere to be?”

“Can’t it be both?” Lavellan’s eyes widened in a picture of innocence. 

Varric scoffed at that. “It’s never both. What’s up?”

Lavellan dropped himself into a plush chair with a dramatic sigh. “Caught again,” he said. “But you are right. Venatori’s been sniffing around some very old, very crumbly ruins in the Western Approach. It might be nothing, but there’s a chance we can cripple them, Cullen and Leliana want to take it. And Madame Vivienne, we’ve gotten word on one of your missing books in the area as well.”

“I take it you want us to pack our bags?” Vivienne asked, raising a well-groomed brow. “Or shall I simply expect a delivery?”

“I can bring it to you, if you like, but I’d rather you came to verify if it’s genuine,” Lavellan answered. “Varric, I’d like you to come with me for the ruins if you’re willing.”

“You want me to come to a desert filled with sand, monsters, and raiders to look at a pile of rocks filled with even more sand, monsters, and raiders? And possible Venatori?” Varric stared at his Inquisitor for a long moment. “Eh, it beats paperwork. When are we leaving?”

Lavellan grinned at him. “As soon as we can. Bull and Dorian are meeting us there after checking with one of Bull’s contacts.” Varric kept his face still at that statement. Stuck in the desert with a ticking bomb and its triggers sounded like a recipe for disaster, but… The Inquisitor’d been dealing with this shit for a while. It’d be fine.

Vivienne stepped back from her work, examining it critically. “Well, it’s not perfect, but it will suffice for now. Inquisitor, I’d like to bring Cole along. It’d be a good opportunity to teach him some manners before Halamshiral.” 

“If Cole’s alright with it, I don’t see any reason why not.” Cole jumped up out of the stool before Vivienne could grab him again and nodded his answer. Lavellan beamed at them again and stood. “If that’s all settled, then. Pack your things. We’ll be gone in the morning. There’s work to be done!”

And with that, he strode out the door with a jaunty wave.

“Shit. Does he ever stop?”

“No.”

“Sadly, not that I’ve seen.”

“ _Shit_.”


	3. Breaking Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go very wrong.

If there was a physical hell in the world, Lavellan had a pretty good idea it was somewhere in the Western Approach. It was hot, sandy, and full of very poisonous things that wanted to kill him and everyone around, and if he had his way, he’d never have to come here again. But, this was where the Venatori were, and tolerating the hellscape was worth whatever the Inquisition could rip from their grasp.

Maybe that was slightly petty, but Lavellan didn’t think anyone would mind.

The journey to the ruin was rather uneventful, though Lavellan thought Vivienne would go mad trying to teach Cole the subtleties of silverware. Somehow she’d managed to rope in both Dorian and Varric in her efforts, and between the three of them, they almost got it. It was a grand triumph when Cole was able to point out the salad fork. Dorian later confided that Madame de Fer was almost misty-eyed afterward. Lavellan was rather proud of the former spirit.

“It makes her happy,” Cole explained with a shrug when Lavellan took him aside that evening to make certain he was alright with all of the attention. “It helps her not to think.” They parted ways just outside the ruin, Vivienne and Cole going to collect the book while the Venatori’s newest discovery was investigated. 

The building itself was old, falling down, and its features rendered almost indistinct by centuries of wind and sand. In other words, it was rather par for the course on desert ruins. Lavellan just hoped something worthwhile was inside. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d gone on a wild goose chase.

“Seems safe enough,” Bull said, investigating the entrance. “No sign of anyone here right now, though.”

“Think we scared them off?” Varric asked as he stepped forward. “Or were never here in the first place?” It was a good question; the sand and dust in the entryway looked completely undisturbed. If the Venatori had been here, they’d done a good job of hiding their trail, or else used a different entrance.

“Nah,” Bull answered. “They’ve been here. See how the sand’s got sorta brush strokes in it? Someone came by and cleared their tracks.”

Lavellan knelt to study the ground. He may’ve learned his tracking in forested areas, but he could see what Bull was talking about. “How were they tipped off?”

“Could be they’re just that careful. You’ve managed to pull the rug out from under them enough lately,” Dorian suggested. “Are we going to admire the sand some more or are we going in out of the sun?”

Bull nodded and lead the way inside, the others close behind. It wasn’t a very big ruin, whatever it used to be. Lavellan thought it might have been a tomb at some point, though it wasn’t as big as some of the other dwarven tombs they’d found. He shrugged at that; maybe it just hadn’t been a very important dwarf.

There was only one room beyond the antechamber and stairs, coated in dust and holding an air of neglect. Dorian lit a light for them, casting veilfire to sconces on the wall and throwing the room into an eerie blue glow that revealed bits of broken pottery and shelves.

“There’s nothing here!” the mage exclaimed. “It’s empty!”

“That can’t be right,” Lavellan protested, stepping into the room. The Venatori wouldn’t have bothered hiding their trail if there had been nothing here, and it didn’t look as though this place had been looted at all. Why would the Venatori…. “It’s a trap,” he said quietly, taking in the room and it’s very plain state. “We’ve been tricked.”

The four looked at each other for a long moment before the thought crashed over them and they scrambled for the door. The light of a spell circle glowed as soon as Varric’s foot hit the threshold at the bottom of the stairs, and the ground began to shake. Dust clouded the air as stones and bricks shifted and broke loose from the wall. 

Bull shoved Lavellan into Varric, almost throwing them up the stairs. “Go!” he shouted. “We’re right behind you!” Lavellan didn’t think to look back, sprinting on Varric’s heels as the tremors continued and worsened. They ran smack into two mages, arms raised with spells at the ready. 

They didn’t give the Venatori a chance to say the first cantrip. He threw his dagger into the throat of one as crossbow bolts thudded into the other. Both mages crumpled to the ground, and the earthquake ceased. 

“ _That_ could have gone better,” Varric grumbled as Lavellan stepped forward to retrieve his dagger. “No offense, Inquisitor, but I think I’m gonna sit the next desert run out.”

“No offense taken,” Lavellan replied as he cleaned his dagger. “Is everyone alright?”

“I’m fine. How about… you… Oh shit. Inquisitor…?”

Something in Varric’s voice put Lavellan on guard. He spun around and… The stairs were gone. Collapsed. With Dorian and Bull still inside.

“Oh no. No no no…” He fell to his knees and started lifting rocks, throwing them out of the way as quickly as he could. “Dorian? Bull? Can you hear me?”

Silence answered, the rubble still and settled. “Dorian! Bull! Answer me, dammit!”

“Inquisitor… I don’t think…”

“Varric. I need you to go find Vivienne.” Lavellan’s voice was quiet, the smallest shake in his words the only signal of oncoming distress as he continued digging through the rubble.

The dwarf sighed. “I’m not sure I should leave you--”

“Varric, _please_.”

“I… Alright. Just… Don’t die while I’m gone.” 

Lavellan barely registered the sound of his footsteps fading away as he kept digging and calling out to his fallen companions. He felt split in two, stuck between determination and hysteria. The determination was winning, though barely. His movements were steady, hands lifting every rock he could manage and thrusting it to the side. He knew, logically, there was no way to clear this by hand, but he had to try. If he didn’t…

He didn’t want to think about that. His thoughts were already becoming a panicked mess.

“Come on,” he growled. “You two are stronger than that, get off your asses and get out here! I swear I will _fire_ you if you die right now!”

He didn’t know how long it took for his pleading and threats to turn to prayer. Every rock he moved brought a flash of memory. Bull’s delighted laughter after their first dragon hunt, the way Dorian’s eyes sparkled when he spoke of his homeland. The way their hands felt clasped on his shoulder or how surprised they’d been when he’d let them in.

“Please no. Don’t do this.”

His heart hurt with every thump in his chest, his chest growing tighter. He couldn’t lose them, not these two. They were his _friends_ and in another life, they could have been more.

“ _Please_.”

It wasn’t fair, not after everything they’d both suffered. He could see it still, the pain in Dorian’s eyes as he confronted his father or the way Bull had chosen to step off the path planned for him. They were both so brave, and they deserved better than this.

“Maker, Creators, _please_. After all this, after all that’s happened…” 

The rocks were too heavy. He couldn’t move them. Tears pricked at his eyes, making trails in the dust on his face as they fell. It wasn’t fair. He’d done everything anyone had ever asked of him, and had sacrificed more than anyone even knew. Lavellan sank to his knees and gave voice to the words that had started clawing up his throat since Varric left.

“I’ve done all you _fucking_ wanted! Please! Don’t take the men I love, too! You owe me this!”

The earth groaned as the last words left his lips. Light suffused the rubble, and Lavellan wondered hysterically if this was actually an answer from whoever was in charge. The rocks began to shift once more, propping up on each other in a loose reference to their original shape. Lavellan scrambled to his feet as two coughing figures stepped out of the dust. Other than a bloody gash on Dorian’s forehead, they seemed unharmed.

With a shout, he threw himself at them, almost knocking them over as he grabbed them. “Thank the Maker,” he gasped. “You’re still--”

Lavellan saw the looks on their faces. Shock, confusion. A question forming on Dorian’s lips even as a light dawned in his eyes. Bull was no different. They’d heard. There wasn’t even a point in asking. 

Blood rushed in his ears and, as he stepped away from them, something broke inside and the world tumbled out from under him in a wave of black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There may be a second section added to this chapter, but I want to get what I have up since I can't write much tomorrow.
> 
> I'll actually write proper notes when the gic is done. Which. Should be this weekend.


	4. Supression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and Bull have a very healthy conversation about feelings. Lavellan does not.

“Well _shit_ this is a mess,” Bull growled as soon as he and Dorian were in the safety and privacy of their own tent.

Dorian dropped onto a pile of blankets-- hell desert or no, he would travel in comfort-- “That would be an understatement, _amatus_. The question is, what do we do about it?”

“I don't know! Did you see his face?” 

“Before or after it hit the ground?”

Bull paused in his pacing and leveled a glare at his lover. Ordinarily, Dorian worked very hard to earn one of those glares, but at the moment, it was a sign of just how agitated the warrior was. Dorian sympathized. Bad enough to have nearly died in a two-bit trap, but to have… _this_ land on the heads! It was too much!

Inquisitor Lavellan collapsed minutes before Varric returned with Vivienne and Cole in tow. Bull had passed it off as a symptom of heat exhaustion, but Dorian wasn't too certain if the lie was believed. Varric and Vivienne simply nodded, and Cole kept his mouth shut-- a sure sign of something in the air, though they hadn't the time to question them, not with the Inquisitor unconscious at their feet.

And his expression before he fell… Dorian closed his eyes and felt it burned into the lids. It was the expression of a man in agony. How long? How long had Lavellan been keeping it hidden? Dorian wondered if even he knew. 

He shivered at that thought, that one of his closest friends was carrying that lonely weight. The shape of it felt too familiar, cold and heavy. Oh yes, Dorian knew it well. And he’d been lucky enough to find someone to lift it away.

Warmth rose around him as arms wrapped about his shoulders. Without opening his eyes, Dorian leaned against his lover and sighed. “There was a time I thought he and I… That we might have…” He trailed off, unsure how to voice his train of thought. “But I assumed he wasn't quite interested enough.”

“He pulled away,” Bull rumbled softly, lips pressed against his hair. “Not your fault for that.”

“I didn't say it was.”

“But you were thinking it.”

“... I suppose I was.”

Dorian opened his eyes and twisted around to fit himself more fully into the curve of Bull’s body. He would _never_ admit to it, not even on threat of torture, but it was comforting to be able to shut the world out by hiding himself against his lover’s broad body. It gave him room to safely breathe at the least. He sighed again, idly playing with the strap of Bull’s dubious chest plate as vague, confusing thoughts tumbled through his mind.

“What was his excuse?” The question drew him out once more, and Dorian pulled back to meet Bull’s gaze. “For stopping,” he elaborated. “What did he tell you?”

Dorian frowned. That wasn't exactly a conversation he wanted to think about even in the most pleasant of circumstances. It wasn't the worst break-up he’d had, but it wasn't the best either. “He… He said it was his job. That things were moving too fast for him to devote time to, well, us.” The frown became a scowl; it had hurt to hear it, and it hurt to remember it.

Bull chuckled, the sound of it reverberating around the tent. Dorian aimed his scowl at him instead. “I don't see anything funny about that.”

“It’s not,” Bull replied. “But that’s what he told me, too.”

“Wait. You were an item? When? How did you keep it from the gossip mill?” 

Bull shook his great horned head and tightened his grip on Dorian as he rested his chin on his head. “Wasn't for very long. We hooked up a couple times after that shitshow at the Storm Coast, but he broke it off. Said something about needing to focus on preparing for Adamant.” He chuckled again. “He might’ve actually believed it, too.”

Dorian pushed back against Bull’s grip-- comfortable or not, this was a conversation that required facial expressions-- but he gave up with an exasperated huff when Bull didn’t budge. “What do you mean by that?”

“I think our Inquisitor got cold feet.” 

“Whatever for?” Dorian knew what it was like to be frightened by something more than a casual tryst, but… Surely Lavellan had no reason to fear anything. He was one of the most powerful men in Thedas. He was perhaps the most decisive elf Dorian had ever had the pleasure of meeting. Why in the world would he be afraid… “Ah.”

“Exactly. He’s in charge of fixing this Fade crap, he just conquered a supposedly unconquerable fortress, everyone’s looking to him for answers… The guy didn't exactly plan for all this.”

Dorian hummed as he let that sit in him for a moment. “That makes a great deal more sense than I’d like,” he grumbled. “He dumped both of us because of the pressure, then?”

“I wouldn't say ‘dumped,’ but… Yeah.”

They fell quiet for a moment, thinking in the safety of each other’s company. Outside the closed tent flap, the sound of muted and footsteps moved to and fro as their companions went about camp with various personal chores. Dorian wondered for a moment if one of the people passing by was Lavellan, but… No. The Inquisitor was likely in his tent, recovering from his collapse. Varric had even put Cole on “guard” duty, with strict orders not to let the elf set foot outside. If Dorian had been in a better mood, it would’ve been rather funny.

“Bull?”

“Yes, _kadan_?”

“He said he loved us.”

“... I know.”

“Do you think he meant it?”

Bull blew out his breath, and Dorian virtuously clamped down on the complaint that it was mussing his hair. “He did kinda faceplant in the sand after. I think that answers itself. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you still love him?”

The question took him by surprise, smacking him on the forehead with sheer blunt force. Typical of Bull, really, to ask something so delicate with that sort of unexpected precision. He grimaced against Bull’s chest as he tried to work out an answer. “I… Lavellan is one of my best friends. He’s worked tirelessly to fix this damned world, and he hasn’t asked for a single thing in return. He’s infernally noble and attractive, and he listens and it’s rather unfair the way he just remembers the little things you’ve told him and… Oh, _damn it_.”

Dorian couldn’t see it, but he rather felt as though he could feel the small smirk Bull was undoubtedly wearing as he laughed. “Yeah. Me too.”

“So what do we do about it?” 

“We could let him in?”

That… Felt like the right answer. Dorian nodded, both in assent and understanding. There was just one problem.

“We probably need to talk to him about all of this.”

“We will,” Bull said with a yawn, dragging a blanket over them both. “Tomorrow, though. I don’t think we’ll be allowed close with the kid watching him tonight.” 

“Tomorrow, then,” Dorian agreed. With that, he put matters out of his mind with effort and fell asleep listening to Bull’s heartbeat. Tomorrow, there would be time for talking and maybe possibilities. 

When morning came, however, Dorian and Bull both found that cornering Lavellan for their talk was a much more difficult task than they imagined. There were suddenly dozens of little tasks needing to be done every time they stopped, and of course Lavellan needed to attend them personally. If nothing else, Dorian thought wryly, Lavellan’s horse was getting the best out of these circumstances. It certainly was the most well attended animal in the Inquisition.

Lavellan himself, on the other hand… He was slipping. It was fortunate it was a small group headed back to Skyhold, or else they wouldn’t have been able to quell rumors of the Herald’s failing health. It wasn’t that the man was any less active-- in fact, he nearly doubled his workload in an attempt to avoid Dorian and Bull-- but he held a fragility about him that was honestly terrifying to behold. He ate less, and it was painfully obvious he wasn’t sleeping. Bull told Dorian late one night that it was actually sort of impressive that Lavellan managed to hide his distress at all.

Still, the tension in the party was unbearable. Varric spoke less, and Vivienne had stopped her mandatory deportment lessons for Cole. And Cole… He was probably taking it the hardest. Dorian lost count of how many times the kid had started to say something or reach out to them and held back. He figured they all owed the poor thing dinner in Val Royeux after this mess was straightened out.

They managed to pin Lavellan down exactly once, a week before they were due to arrive back at Skyhold. “Please,” he had said, his voice somehow steady though his eyes were dark with misery. “Just… Give me some time. Just until we’re back home.”

There hadn’t really been much either of them could say to that, and so they waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna be honest. I thought I would have given up on this by now. I'm kinda glad I haven't.
> 
> Comments are always appreciated!


	5. Vent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisitor breaks. Dorian and Bull pull Caim from the wreckage.
> 
> Warnings for blood and a panic attack in this one.

There was glass in his heart, broken, jagged shards that threatened to climb up his throat and pierce his skin at any passing second. He locked his voice behind his lips and closed his eyes, shutting down everything that didn’t have to do with the Inquisitor. He could fall apart later, in private. If he were to let himself loose now, it’d damage the hard work his people had done.

It was hard, but somehow, he did it. He managed to ride under the gate of Skyhold and report to the Advisors with almost his usual flair. They all fretted that somehow the Venatori had been able to set a trap and offered solutions on how to keep from falling for a second one. He listened to their suggestions and put Leliana to work on finding out whether or not they had a leak. It was normal. He managed normal. There was nothing in his demeanor that could be construed as out of the ordinary. 

Finally, _finally_ he was allowed to return his quarters. (Just for some rest, he told them. It had been a long trip. He’ll be back to work in the morning, no worries.) The door shut behind him with a muffled thud, and normal crashed down around him. Cold, sharp pain seized his heart, squeezing his throat and turning every beat and breath into waves of agony. 

_Why?_ He wailed silently, still unable to release his voice. He couldn’t. Someone would hear. _Why couldn’t I have just continued on?_ He forced himself up the stairs, tripping and hitting his shin on the unforgiving stone halfway. It hurt, but it forced air through his lungs as it took pain from his chest.

 _They’re together. They’re happy. Why can’t I be satisfied with that? I don’t have time for this! I can’t have_ any _of this!_

He dragged himself across his chambers to the washbasin and plunged his hands in the water. It was frigid, part of the hardships of living in the mountains, but that wasn’t important. The cold numbed his hands, travelling up his arms and shocked him out of the red haze that was threatening to overwhelm him. 

Panting in almost relief, though he chest still felt too-tight and his eyes were raw, he sighed and looked up. It was a mistake. His eyes met his reflection’s in the mirror above the basin, and everything crumbled once more. He stared, hands gripping the cold metal basin, trying to will it to break through the tide of panic as he took in his own features. 

He didn’t look like the leader of an entire movement. Just an elf, scared and exhausted. Why was this happening to him? He didn’t ask for it, not any single part. All he’d wanted was a chance to see the world once or twice, and now there was a mark on his hand and he’s in the world’s eye. 

A terrible wheezing sound reached his ears, and it took him far too long to realize it was his own breath.

 _I tried!_ he cried as his hands shook, bruising as his grip tightened on the basin. _I’ve done everything anyone could ask, divine or not! I’ve studied and worked to fix this damned war, and now it’s all falling apart because I kept wanting something that’s not even mine to begin with!_

“All because I’m such a stupid! Selfish! COWARD!”

He raised his fists and brought them slamming down into his reflection. The mirror splintered under the impact, biting into his cold-numbed hands and raining down to clatter against the dresser and floor. As they shattered, it released the glass inside him, bursting up and out his throat with a scream. He grabbed the dresser and knocked it to the ground, sending water and the basin flying.

The resulting crashed echoed through his chambers, slamming into him, and he fell to his knees. Dry, breathless sobs wracked his chest though tears refused to fall, and he crumpled to the ground, ignoring the broken glass and his own bleeding fists. 

“Maker’s breath….”

Even in the depths of despair, instinct was instinct. No sooner had the person behind him spoken than he was on his feet, yanking free the lethal pins holding his hair in place. He whirled, copper hair cascading down, ready to face the intruder and…

Stopped. The pins fell from his hand and joined the mess on the floor. Both Iron Bull and Dorian faced him, looks of horror and pity mingled on their faces. How long had they been there? He couldn’t tell. He’d dropped his guard.

“I… Ah.. F-forgive me. I didn’t… I didn’t hear you come in.” He stood straighter and brushed his hair from his face, smearing blood across his heated cheek. “I-I apologize for the mess. If… If you’ll just… give me a moment?”

“What on earth happened?” Dorian’s eyes were soft with concern. He shoved aside the temptation to soften, too. He couldn’t. He needed to get them out of his quarters so he could resume falling apart in privacy.

“Accident. Just.. a bit clumsy. Nothing serious.”

“Nothing serious?” Lavellan, look at your hands!” Dorian stepped forward, gesturing as if he were at a loss. He clamped down a sudden, high giggle. If Dorian was lost, he wasn’t the only one.

Bull approached. _His_ face was closed now, something he was grateful for. He didn’t think he could stand much more worry. He’d already done enough damage to his reputation as the Inquisitor. “Maybe you should sit down, Boss.”

“I’m alright, Bull. Just… Alright. E-excuse me. I’ve….” He tried to push past them, to show them that he was capable of still being the indominantable Inquisitor Lavellan, but his legs betrayed them. A single, shaking, unsteady step tripped him. Bull caught him before he fell to the floor and manhandled him into sitting on the bed.

“You can stop now,” he murmured quietly into his ear as he sat beside him. Weight settled on his other side as Dorian joined them. “We’re the only ones here, and we’re not going anywhere.”

He kept his gaze forward. If he looked at them, he’d shatter again, and he couldn’t, he wouldn’t do that to them. They required better than that. If only they would just go _away_ and leave him to his misery in peace. They already had the best this world could ever offer; what more did they want from him?

“Ignoring us won’t make us vanish, you know,” Dorian said gently to his right, leaning into his field of vision. “We do need to talk about this.”

“I can’t.” It was the smallest whisper, but it felt like a gale rushing through his lungs. His bloody fists tightened on his lap, turning into a blurry, red stain as his vision swam. Tears continued to press at his eyes, though they refused to fall. Bull still held on with an arm around his shoulders, and he thought about pushing away, ordering them out, but he was so _tired_. 

“Let’s start with that,” Bull said. How did he sound so calm? This wasn’t a place for calm, not with everything cracking and splitting under his chest! A small, hiccuping sound erupted from his throat, not quite a sob. 

“Please. I-I can’t… I have to--”

“Caim. Talk to us.”

It was his name that undid him. He hadn't heard it in so _long_ , and it tore down whatever barrier that kept his tears at bay. A choked sob pushed through him, followed by another and another until he clung to Bull and wept. 

Caim Lavellan was just a hunter, one of the protectors of the clan who made the mistake of obeying one too many orders by the Keeper. He couldn’t _be_ Caim anymore. Caim didn’t have the skills or the confidence to lead an army into saving the world! That’s why he threw himself into being the Inquisitor! He didn’t ask for it, but he did it just the same because _someone_ had to!

And that someone had to be him. Which meant he couldn’t be a _person_ for those he loved. If he tried, the collected mask of the Inquisitor would surely slip away, and he’d lead his people into the ground. And he couldn’t do that, not for all of those men and women who worked so damned hard, even to the point of laying down their very _lives_ for their Herald!

The arms keeping him from running curled and pulled him close, and the weight at his side grew warm and close as he was held from behind. Caim tried to talk through his weeping, to explain that they shouldn’t get so close. He couldn’t give them what they needed, and it wasn’t fair to risk tearing apart what they’d found together. He really _was_ happy they’d found each other, and that was truly enough for him! He’d make it work, this was just temporary…

Caim didn’t know how long he went on, or even how much of his babbling was in common. They didn’t interrupt, just held him tightly and let him run on and on. He was pretty sure he stopped making sense at some point, but they continued holding him. At some point, a hand-- he wasn’t sure whose-- rose to rub his shoulder. It seemed to signal the last few desperate tears, and Caim hung his head, wrung dry and weak.

“Feel better?” a voice over his head asked. Dimly, he recognized it as Dorian. Caim started to shake his head-- _no_ he didn’t feel better, everything was still a mess just now his head and hands _hurt_ \-- but… No, he _did_ feel slightly better. Not great, but there was no longer the choking pressure in his chest threatening to overwhelm him at any second.

“Now, I’m not entirely sure what you said, but from what I could gather between the Dalish bits… Look Caim... You don’t have to worry about us,” he said. “We actually did the unthinkable and talked about this. We’re willing to make it work.”

“It’ll hurt,” Caim said with a wet sniff. He felt heavy, exhausted, and it seemed almost petty that small things like his head aching or his hands stinging were pricking at the edges of his consciousness when all he wanted was to just sit and maybe sleep in the aftermath. “There’ll be rumors, and I can’t just…”

“Hey, trust us a little, Boss,” Bull cut in. “We’ll figure it out. Together. No more of this stoic hiding alone shit, alright?”

“You’ve got something to stop every argument, don’t you?”

“Well, you did give us some time to plan,” Dorian pointed out. “Like I said. We talked. Which we should all do soon.”

“Later, though,” Bull replied, shifting to prop Caim up off his chest. Caim sat up and looked up at him in confusion, too worn out to ask why. “Right now, I’m handing _you_ to Dorian for a nap while I get something for your hands and maybe steal something from the kitchens. Then we can talk.” His tone left no room for argument, not that Caim had the energy to protest, not with Dorian already reclaiming him and holding him close.

Besides. His hands were _really_ starting to hurt. Hitting the mirror had been a mistake.

“Thank you,” he whispered as he closed his eyes, leaning against Dorian and breathing in the mix of oils the mage indulged himself with.

“Always, Boss. You just get some rest.” His footsteps receded, and Caim felt the world drift under him. Just before he fully succumbed to sleep, he heard Dorian’s voice, distant and quiet as the opening of a dream.

“We really do love you, you know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a lot harder to write than I thought.
> 
> Shoutout to the amazing trashpocalypse for helping me with typos and word order!


	6. Acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull does some doctoring. Dorian is used for a pillow. Caim finally gets in on the healthy conversation action.

Bull shouldered the door open with a covered platter in one arm and a medical kit he borrowed (stole) from Stitches. It was quiet inside the large, airy room, but Bull wasn’t going to complain about that. Quiet was much better than the primal scream and crashing of furniture that greeted him and Dorian earlier. It was something of a minor miracle that the door didn’t completely fly off its hinges when they burst in.

The reason for the silence explained itself as Bull rounded the corner into the room proper; Dorian and Caim were still where he left them, though Caim had apparently slid down and was currently curled in Dorian’s lap, clinging to his waist. Dorian was occupied with brushing his fingers through the elf’s long hair with an expression that came very close to adoring.

“I could get used to sights like this,” Bull said quietly, setting his burdens on the edge of the bed before scooting over to Dorian’s side. “It’s cute.”

“Don’t wake him up!” Dorian scolded in a whisper, his fingers still tangled in Caim’s copper locks. It was a soft sort of thing that didn’t fit with the sharp-tongued rebellious ‘Vint persona that Dorian usually projected. Bull considered himself a lucky man that he was allowed past that prickly exterior.

“We’ll have to wake him up eventually. Those cuts aren’t deep, but they’ll get nasty if they get infected,” Bull pointed out, speaking from years of experience with lacerations. The ones on Caim’s hands didn’t look too bad, but it was better to be safe than sorry. There’d be a lot of really unhappy people if the Inquisitor lost that Fade thing of his. “How long has he been out like this?”

Dorian shifted slightly to lean against Bull. “Pretty much since you left,” he admitted. “I think he pretty thoroughly exhausted himself. And he wasn’t exactly sleeping on the return journey. Let him sleep just a little longer?” He was just shy of actually begging as he looked up at Bull.

Bull swallowed back an indulgent smile. Dorian had a way with tugging on heartstrings Bull had thought long since cut during his days as a spy. But lately, it felt as though the walls he’d erected to keep himself from feeling too much on the job had grown thinner, worn down by the mage next to him. And if he was honest, Dorian wasn’t the only one. Bull thought he could truly put a date on when his heart opened, and it was the same day a sarcastic elf the size of his bicep yelled at him for doubt that he was a good man.

“Well, we could try treating those cuts while he’s asleep, but I’m not sure he’ll stay asleep while we do that.”

“It’s worth a shot,” Dorian decided. “Look at his face! Waking him up probably counts as a criminal act.”

Bull favored Dorian with a raised eyebrow, but took up the medicine kit and pried Caim’s arms off of the mage as gently as he could, resulting in a sleepy mutter that would have melted his heart if he hadn’t been such a strong, capable warrior. There wasn’t any glass in the cuts, amazingly, and they weren’t deep enough to require stitches. Really all they needed was cleaning and some bandages. In Bull’s opinion, that was the best outcome for anything involving glass. 

He took up the gentle task of cleaning the cuts with some sort of pre-prepared wash that Stitches had threatened to quit over should Bull try to drink it. Not that Bull would-- brandy wasn't that appealing in the best of circumstances. He worked quietly, enjoying the rare moment of peace, until the hand he was wrapping stiffened and tried to pull away.

“How’re you feeling?” he asked, keeping hold of the hand. Caim could have it back _after_ it was treated.

Caim shifted as though he’d sit up, but apparently thought the better of it as Dorian stroked his back. “I’d say it was a dream, but it feels as though there’s someone hitting my head with a maul and setting my hands on fire,” he answered. For a moment, he sounded like his normal, near-irritated self. Then fragile uncertainty entered his voice. “... You didn't leave.”

“And abandon this fine bed? Perish the thought!” Dorian exclaimed. “And really, it would be churlish to sneak away, wouldn't it?”

“That and you had a death grip on him,” Bull grunted in amusement as he finished with the last bit of bandages. Keep things light, he told himself. Whatever was going through Caim’s head was likely to try to drive him away. “You can take your hand if you want.”

Caim sat up slowly from Dorian’s lap, tugging his hand out of Bull’s grip. (With reluctance, he noticed with a hint of hope.) He wasn't at his best, with hair mussed and eyeliner streaking his dark cheeks. “I… Ah… Thank you,” he said, cradling his hands in his lap to inspect the bandages. 

“I’m probably supposed to give you all sorts of instructions on how to take care of that, but you’ve probably done this crap before, and we probably need to talk about other stuff.”

Bull couldn't see Caim’s face behind the curtain of hair, but he could practically feel the consideration rolling between those pointy ears. He and Dorian exchanged a glance of mixed worry and expectation, waiting for Caim to choose his answer. Bull didn't _think_ he’d shut himself off again, not after all of this, but he’d been wrong about him before.

But he didn't think he was wrong. Not this time, when all of the carefully built facades and masks were stripped away. 

The bandaged hands clenched into fists with a shaky sigh, and Caim drew himself up, pushing his hair from his face. “Alright,” he said. One word, but it the promise of more to come. It was a start, but to what, Bull could only hope.

The three of them looked at each other for a moment, waiting for someone to volunteer first. Bull raised an eyebrow as Dorian’s lip quirked into wry smile. “What?”

Dorian shook his head, the smile growing more crooked and dry. “I was just thinking if this was one of those romance tales the Seeker is so fond of, this would be the point of heartfelt confessions and tearful, tender lovemaking. Bit unrealistic, actually. This is far more complicated.”

“How many of those have you read?” Bull asked, blinking. Even after all these months, the mage still managed to get one or two surprises on him.

“Enough to know they’re absolute rubbish,” Dorian replied primly. “In any case, it’s really not important at the moment.”

He had a point, but Bull filed that tidbit away for future use. He’d get some mileage out of it. He glanced at Caim and nearly laughed aloud as he saw a similar calculating expression on his weary face. If this worked out, the altus’s days of dignity were numbered.

“I can see I am going to regret mentioning that,” Dorian said with a dramatic sigh, throwing himself back against Bull and raising a hand to his brow in what was probably supposed to be some show of dismay. “You two will be the death of me, I just know it!”

“I’d rather not,” Caim said softly, looking up at them with somber honey-gold eyes. Bull shifted expectantly, silently urging him to speak. “It’s… I’m not sure how to say this…” He frowned at his own inarticulation, and Bull found himself resisting the urge to reach around and pat him on the shoulder. (Dorian, he noticed, had no such inhibitions, placing a hand on the elf’s knee.) He’d never seen the Inquisitor at such as loss for words, but then… This wasn't the Inquisitor sitting on the bed beside them. The title was still a role, a persona he hadn't yet reconciled with himself. Bull sympathized-- figuring out the line between self and duty was hard.

Caim swallowed and clenched his fists. “I care about you. Both of you,” he said, taking a deep breath. “And I wish… Well… I wish I could give you everything, every part of me.”

“I’m hearing a ‘but’ in there,” Dorian said mildly. The only sign he gave of worry was his hand on Bull’s arm tightening.

“It isn't right or fair for me to give you promises I cannot keep. I… _can’t_ give you my heart, or… I suppose I can. I already _have._ But I’m… The Inquisition, it’s demanding! For all of us, and I can't take more from you! My time isn't my own, I’m probably supposed to be somewhere _now_ even, and I cannot just… Leave you to hang while I’m being pulled everywhere at once! And I’m your _employer_ what if that becomes an issue? I--”

“Calm down, Boss,” Bull interrupted. _Now_ he placed a hand on Caim’s shoulder. Part of him wanted to rejoice in the fact Caim admitted into giving them his heart, but there would be time for that later. “Dorian, you wanna go through the list?”

Dorian nodded and sat up, looking for all the world like a professor about to give a lecture. “We already know that you’ll be busy. So are we. It will not be difficult to figure _some_ manner of schedule or other. To be quite honest, you really _should_ take more breaks. I understand you leading this, but you can't do much if you work yourself into an early grave.” Dorian paused and aimed a very pointed look at him. The altus’s lips twitched slightly as Caim had the grace to flush. 

“Furthermore, you may employ us but do not think for _minute_ that either of us give two shits for that, pardon my Orlesian.” He leaned forward, dark eyes earnest. “Caim. We love you. We’ll work it out.”

Bull’s heart soared for a moment. Dorian had a mouth on him and used it without sense sometimes, but this… The quiet passion and honesty he poured into such a small phrase… _That_ was the man he loved. Well, one of them. As for the other, he was currently doing a remarkable impression of a fish.

“Got any other arguments for us, Boss? Dorian actually did made a list. With _bullet points._ ”

Caim shook his head as a slow, genuine smile dawned on his face as he realized the truth in Dorian’s speech. Bull was proud of that; they didn't see that expression often. Usually it was hidden by snark and sarcasm. “No. I know when I’ve been beaten. I surrender.”

“Sensible of you,” Dorian replied with an air of finality. He tugged Caim into his lap once more, flopping against Bull. “Now, if you don't mind, it has been _far_ too long.”

“Far too long since what?” Caim asked as he settled in. Bull caught the gleam in Dorian’s eye a split second before the mage bent his head and pressed his lips to the other’s. Bull snorted at that-- Caim’s face was priceless even as he relaxed into it, sighing in relief and happiness. He _did_ clear his throat as the kiss went a little long.

“Don’t forget. I want a turn.” He did his best to assume a sorrowful expression as they broke apart to look at him, though it was hard when he felt like grinning for the rest of the year.

“Of course,” Caim said and tilted his face up expectantly. Bull let the grin shine through and leaned over Dorian to steal a kiss of his own. Dorian protested with a squeak, but Bull didn't pay him much mind. Besides. Making Dorian squeak was one of the highlights of his day. Caim sighed against him, too, lips parting in content. 

Bull decided he’d need to make a proper examination in comparing his lovers’ (Lovers. With an s. What a fucking great day this was!) preferences and styles. It’d be a tough experiment, but as a fully trained spy and analyst, he felt he was up to the task.

All too soon, however, Caim pulled away. “I really should go check on things before we get too carried away,” he said ruefully, apology clear in his eyes. “I’m amazed I don't have an army of healers trying to break down my door.”

“Uh, about that, Boss,” Bull started. “I bumped into Red on the way back. Seems both Varric and Vivienne took turns imploring your Council to send you on a vacation or something before you work yourself to death. Apparently that was the cause of your, eh, ‘heat stroke’ in the desert.”

Both Caim and Dorian gaped at him for a moment. Bull shrugged. “Leliana said to pack when you’re ready. It’ll only be a week or so, but, we could work something out.”

“Varric _and_ Vivienne?” Dorian blinked. “Maker you’ve got some fast talkers in your corner.”

Caim leaned against Dorian, biting his lip in thought. It was actually kind of cute. “A week…” he mused, hands seeking (and grabbing) Bull’s and Dorian’s alike.

“We can work with that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT IS DONE
> 
> I am super proud of this! I have never written anything this long before that wasn't in rp format!
> 
> Special shout out and a mazillion thanks to trashacolypse for being the best beta and cheerleader!
> 
> I am absoultely going to write more with this series. If anyone has suggestions or things they want to see, let me know. Next on the docket is a vacation!
> 
> Comments are alwayd appreciated! 
> 
> Last exclamation point!

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, that is a codex entry.


End file.
